


Memories of Deya

by SpicyChestnut



Series: No Regrets [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Deya Village, Extra Memory, F/M, Romance, Secret Marriage, zelink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyChestnut/pseuds/SpicyChestnut
Summary: Vah Rudania had already been reclaimed, and a few days prior so had Vah Ruta. There was much to feel good about. He was making progress faster than Impa had expected; but he was ill at ease. He could not shake the unsettled feeling deep in his gut his memories had given him. There was a missing piece—there had to be. / BOTW ZeLink / Sequel to "A Chapel in Deya".





	Memories of Deya

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the bitter to go with the sweet. This is a sequel to "A Chapel in Deya", inspired by a comment left on the story on FF.net. I strongly recommend reading that first, though it isn't necessarily required to understand what's going on. Part 2 of the "No Regrets" oneshot trilogy.

The sun was warm and the breeze cool as Link rode along the Squabble river, listening absently to the chirping of birds as he left the shadow of the Dueling peaks en route to the Proxim bridge. He had departed Kakariko that morning after checking in with Impa. Vah Rudania had already been reclaimed, and a few days prior he and the boisterous Prince Sidon succeeded in calming Vah Ruta. There was much to feel good about. He was making progress faster than Impa had expected, successfully walking the razor edge between functionality and exhaustion to achieve his ends as soon as possible; he had already recovered a handful of memories, giving him brief glimpses into his old life. It was becoming just enough to start putting pieces together and to understand who he had been.  
  
But he was ill at ease; he could not shake the unsettled feeling deep in his gut the memories had given him.  
  
He had felt this way ever since recovering his memory of Mipha and meeting her spirit within Vah Ruta; but moreso, since receiving the Zora armor from King Dorephan. It added a piece to the puzzle he just couldn’t make sense of. His memories of the lead up to the calamity were jumbled and, he could tell, out of order. The way the King presented him with the armor suggested he had returned the Zora Princess’ feelings, and though he had not yet recovered any memories to suggest he’d been close with anyone else, for some reason he just couldn’t imagine being in love with the Zora princess—or even being the object of her affections. It just struck him as… odd; ill-fitting.  
  
If there was anyone from his past life he did feel a particularly strong draw toward, it was the Hylian Princess. Based on what memories he had recovered, though, it could certainly be construed as merely a strong commitment to duty. There had, after all, been a good deal of friction between he and Princess Zelda—at least at first. She seemed distinctly to resent him, exuding quiet bitterness at his blessing ceremony. But atop Death Mountain, when she bandaged him after fighting off a horde of monsters, they seemed friendly enough. And more confusing still… he had comforted her that night in the rain when she broke down on their flight from the castle, holding her close against him. He remembered what he felt, then, with particular clarity… the painful, raw sense of loss, the ache of knowing her despair, the overwhelming helplessness… but also the determination to keep her safe—at all costs.  
  
And there was a niggling voice in the back of his head which whispered—one he simply couldn’t ignore: It wasn’t just his sense of duty that drove him to feel that way.  
  
Yet despite that, logically, he couldn’t deny that a relationship with the Zora Princess made a lot of sense: childhood friends growing into something more as they years progressed. She had loved him very deeply, that much was clear—it didn’t seem too much of a stretch to think that he could have come to return her love over time. In the brief memory he managed to recover gazing up at her statue in Zora’s Domain, the only thing he could recall feeling that day atop Ruta was a deep fondness for her; but romantic relationships did involve such feelings, did they not? Perhaps he had simply not been feeling particularly romantic that day?  
  
Still… Regardless of how he felt towards her back then, he at least had a solid understanding of where she stood, and what their relationship had been at least at some point. His feelings towards Princess Zelda, however, and her feelings towards him, were still a mystery.  
  
What had they been to each other? What explained the draw he felt towards her? Were they friends? Close allies in the fight against Ganon? Was he simply her appointed knight—just there to keep her from getting speared by moblins on her journeys through the kingdom? Did she always resent him as she had during his blessing ceremony, or had they grown more friendly over time as his memories seemed to suggest? Was their relationship merely distantly platonic or were they confidants to each other—allies in destiny, perhaps?  
  
But… he had awoken from his slumber with no memory of who he was—or where he was—and despite that, had been ready to go marching straight to the castle to achieve an end he could not name. He had felt a drive so powerful he could not ignore it despite the lunacy of the proposition. Had the spirit of the King not helped guide him he may have made his way across Hyrule field straight to his death in pursuit of that nameless goal. Could it really have been merely the drive of destiny compelling him to such a rash act? That would have to have been one hell of a commitment to duty; Or, was it a desire to rescue her, specifically, which had driven him? There was a missing piece—there had to be. He just couldn’t reconcile these contradicting thoughts and feelings.  
  
The sun was beginning to descend, casting the landscape in gold as the road curved towards the hills of Baumer. Eying the sky, he sighed, tightening his grip on the reins. It would be dark soon, and he would need to find a place to camp for the night. Glancing ahead, he spotted a copse of trees with what looked to be the remnants of an abandoned campsite. Pulling left, he veered Epona off the path towards it.  
  
As the trees loomed before him he quickly dismounted, taking the reins in hand and leading his horse through the grass. On the furthest tree from the road, a sturdy branch protruded from the trunk at chest level. It was fairly hidden from passersby and completely covered by the canopy of trees—perfect cover for his horse. Taking the reins, he began to loop them around the branch—then stopped, sagging against the tree as he suddenly saw double—two sets of hands, his hands, making the same motions, on the same tree.  
  
Had… had he done this before? The sense of deja vu was almost overwhelming. He had felt it much like this just before a memory came back to him, but it had never been this strong. He had… been here before—he was certain of it now. And whatever he had done, it must have left a strong impression in his mind for it to still linger.  
  
Was it the tree? Taking a breath, Link walked around it, eying it up and down as he examined every knot and branch, the pattern of the bark… and though a strange sense of familiarity lingered, nothing more stirred within him. With a frustrated huff, he finished securing Epona to the tree, then walked slowly around the small grove, gazing with scrutiny at each tree and bush and rock before turning his attention to the cliff wall behind them. His eyes critically passed over the jagged stone, following it as the stone stretched beyond the copse, curving until it disappeared… there was a path through the hills. He walked alongside the cliff wall until he reached the entrance of the nearly hidden pass. It was narrow, only three people wide and its largest, but still… he had completely missed it.  
  
And though he knew he had never been here before, at least not since waking up in the shrine, the path felt… extremely familiar. Narrowing his eyes, he left Epona behind and headed through.  
  
Steep cliff walls rose on either side, and though the pass was bathed in shadow from the sharp angle of the setting sun, he couldn’t help but imagine the rock walls steeped in bright afternoon sunlight. He extended his hand, letting his fingers scrape along the stone, unable to shake the overwhelming sense that he had been here before.  
  
The pass curved to the right, a large puddle of water forming to the left of the path as the cliffs widened into a valley, and he was met by the bank of what seemed an arm of a lake. Gazing down, he noted that the water was oddly shallow, and looking up out across the valley, it seemed it never grew more than knee-deep. Though he wasn’t keen to get his boots wet, the familiarity of the valley nagged at him, and so, led by some deeper instinct, he stepped off the bank and into the water.  
  
The whole valley was flooded. Trees rose up out of the water here and there, but the landscape was dominated by dead tree stumps and the remains of wooden buildings, the likes of which he’d seen throughout much of Hyrule. It seemed to have once been a small village. But for some reason, unlike the other ruins he had explored across Hyrule’s vast lands, these ruins filled him with a feeling of deep sorrow.  
  
Had this place once been significant to him? Had he perhaps grown up here?  
  
Confused and unnerved and intensely curious, he moved deeper into the valley, his eyes sweeping the stumps and lonesome foundations rotting away in the water. As he examined the remains of the village, attempting to reconstruct in his head what it must have once looked like, a particular building caught his attention. It was in slightly better condition than the rest—or at least, more of it was standing. Three of its walls were still partially erect, and what looked like the remains of a bell tower, sans bell, leaned dangerously sideways. It was perfectly illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun, and he felt an almost painfully strong pull towards it. Following his instincts, he headed hurriedly towards it, sloshing through the water and coming to a stop at the wide doorway, his hand resting on the rotting wooden frame.  
  
That sense of overwhelming familiarity was back, as was the deja vu. He had been here—something important had happened here—he was sure of it. Taking careful steps onto the soggy foundation of the old building, he allowed his gaze to sweep the square room. Small windows whose glass panes had long ago been shattered and broken allowed a breeze to blow through and sunlight to illuminate the water on the floor, causing it to sparkle against the shadows. What looked to be pews of some sort sat in haphazard rows on either side of a center aisle, and a half-rotted wooden Goddess statue lay across the floor at the head of the room. This must have been some sort of temple or place of worship.  
  
With that realization, he felt a lump form in his throat, and moisture prick at his eyes. Blinking rapidly in confusion, he swallowed back the lump, looking around in bewilderment. He hadn’t reacted this strongly to any of the memories he’d recovered thus far. He had felt sadness when he remembered Mipha—remembered remnants of their friendship and had to reconcile that with her passing. He’d felt the lingering tension of the ceremony at the Sacred Grounds. But here, now—this… this was different.  
  
What had happened here?  
  
Carefully, he splashed his way across the floor, approaching the Goddess statue. Kneeling, he placed a hand on it, hoping perhaps it would trigger something—give some context to his overwhelming sense of sorrow… but nothing came to him. With a sigh, he stood, turning back towards the doorway—and suddenly, once more, stilled in shock; he was once again seeing double.  
  
Overlayed upon what he knew to be the dilapidated, rotting frame of a long forgotten temple, he saw what it must have once been—a simple but lovingly built chapel, with walls of dark wood and unadorned windows—and a woman, dressed in white, standing in the doorway.  
  
His eyes narrowed as he stared hard at the doorway, his pulse quickening. He could feel the familiar yet still strange and uncomfortable sensation of the knots holding his memories back begin to loosen; then in a whirlwind, it all came flooding back, his eyes going wide as the memory—beautiful and tragic, replayed in his mind as fresh as the day he stood in this very spot.  
  
 _The chapel was filled with golden light, and he stood nervously at the altar, tugging on the sleeves of his dark blue linen shirt. As he stared in anticipation at the doorway, he felt a hand land on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mayor Bo staring at him with a knowing smile, offering a light squeeze._  
  
 _As Bo lowered his hand, he saw the doors open a crack, and his heart soared—until he saw Ilia and Ruli sneak through, walking quickly down the aisle to the front row as Jaggle and Hanch took up position beside the doors. However, soon Colin began to play his flute, and the doors were swinging open—and there she stood, smiling at him like he was the sun and the moon and all the stars in the heavens. Her hair hung over her shoulders and down her back, interspersed with braids of varying sizes. She wore a blue and white flower crown, and tightly clutched a matching bouquet. She was dressed in a simple, unadorned white linen gown, her shoulders bare, the material hugging the curve of her waist and hips; and though it was far from the finery he knew she would ordinarily be expected to wear at her wedding, to him, she looked like a Goddess. He felt his chest constrict and a lump form in his throat, and the entire room faded from his awareness as the vision that was Zelda consumed the entirety of his sight._  
  
 _As she approached the altar, she handed off her bouquet to Ilia, and he took her hands in his own, feeling almost breathless as he gazed at her, basking in the warmth of her bright smile..._  
  
Link felt as though he’d been kicked in the gut by a Lynel. Tremors wracked his body as their three days in Deya Village—for that is what this place was once called—became known to him.  
  
 _“I take you, Caliope, to be my wife,” he said quietly, reverently. “I promise to love you, to honor you, and to be there for you… no matter what the future holds..."_  
  
He had meant those words with every ounce of his being—had felt them more deeply than any vow he’d ever taken; more than his vow to uphold the knight’s code when he was accepted into the Hyrulean military, and more than his vow to the King as her appointed knight.  
  
 _Bo smiled. “You may kiss your bride,” he’d said to him—then to Zelda, “And you may kiss your husband.” At those words he greedily pulled her into him, leaning in, watching her eyes flutter shut as his lips met hers, moving with her in a quiet passion..._  
  
She had been his wife—his _wife_! He had forgotten her… forgotten what they were. How could he possibly…?  
  
 _A clinking sound rang out as the long table filled with the cheerful residents of Deya Village enthusiastically tapped their flatware against glass and ceramic and metal mugs with expectant grins. Drunk not on wine—of which there was an abundance to be certain, but on his own joy, he turned towards her with the goofy grin he’d been unable to keep from his face throughout the night, leaning in to capture her lips as the villagers cheered and hollered…_  
  
He gasped, finding himself suddenly on his hands and knees in the water.  
  
 _As the front door of Uli’s old cottage loomed before them, Link stopped, stilling her with a hand on her arm. With a barely repressed smile, he turned to her, gazing at her meaningfully, then at the door, then at her again._  
  
 _She shook her head vigorously, though she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “No. Oh, no you don’t—”_  
  
 _He disregarded her completely, grinning broadly as he stooped and wrapped one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, lifting her up bridal-style in his arms as he carried her towards the door._  
  
 _“Link!” she squealed, unable to keep the delight from her voice despite her protest; but he charged forward, kicking in the door with his boot and turning his body as he crossed the threshold with her in his arms, shutting it swiftly behind them…_  
  
His hands clutched at the sides of his head, nails digging into his scalp as he felt his heart thunder painfully in his chest. How had he forgotten this? How?! He could remember, now, so clearly… could remember his unbridled joy, his happiness-their happiness; a moment of utter peace in the midst of a storm…  
  
 _“Link…” she moaned softly against his ear, one hand clutching at the pillow above her head, the other digging fingertips into his shoulder blade as he moved slowly within her, her bare breasts pressed against his chest and his face buried in her neck as he murmured his adoration against her smooth flesh…_  
  
His throat burned as he howled in agony, the depth of his love and the white-hot pain of loss hitting him all at once; the knowledge of the life they could have had, of the one hundred years she’d spent alone, fighting the greatest evil in existence all that time with naught but prayers he would one day return… of losing these most treasured memories—the happiest day of his young life… The pain of it—all of it—burned in his veins like a poison, and he felt his fingers pull at his hair as his breathing came in gasps and sobs.  
  
This was the missing piece—why something felt so off about the memories he had regained. She wasn’t just the Princess of his Kingdom or a charge to protect—she was his wife. He didn’t know how such a thing had come to be, how he progressed from the object of her bitterness to the object of her affection—but he somehow had. They had been lovers—wed in secret in a quiet village, a celebration all their own outside the pressure of their positions and the weight of their destiny.  
  
And he had forgotten all of it—had forgotten loving her.  
  
Sobs echoed off the rotting walls of the chapel as he rocked back and forth, trembling, barely aware of the sharp pain of the hard wood against his knees or the digging of his nails into his scalp. All he could feel was the hurt—and the shame, that for all of his promises he hadn’t been able to keep any of them. He had abandoned her for a century, he hadn’t kept her safe… How could…? WHY?!  
  
He stayed there, on his knees, as the sun set. He stayed there until the light of the moon, not the sun, illuminated the chapel; and only when his body began to shiver did he finally lift his head and open his eyes. His cheeks were wet with tear tracks, his eyelids swollen and red. Lowering trembling hands from his temples, he numbly moved a hand to wipe his face, letting out a hoarse, shaky breath.  
  
He had known, on some level. The soothing voice which had guided him upon waking, that had stirred something deep within him before he was even fully conscious—it was her voice. Despite being leagues away, trapped in battle with evil incarnate, she refused to truly leave him. It explained the mad urge he had felt to storm the castle before he even knew who or where he was. She was watching over him from within her prison—true to her vows just as he had broken his.  
  
He felt his chest constrict painfully, and clutched at his heart, letting out a wheezing breath. He needed to find somewhere to digest this. He couldn’t stay here any longer—here, within the decaying remains of his wedding day, now a century past—it was too _painful._  
  
Struggling to his feet, he hobbled through the water, ignoring his painfully stiff limbs, until he reached the doorway. He stopped briefly, giving a last, lingering look around the room. Then, he turned, heading back to his camp at the mouth of the valley pass.  
  
-:-:-:-:-:-  
  
Sleep proved elusive that night. At the abandoned campsite where he’d left Epona, he rested against a fallen log beside the fire, his head between his knees as a myriad emotions washed over him; as well as a myriad questions. He didn’t know when they got married or how it fit into the time line of his other memories; he didn’t know if he proposed or she… he didn’t even know how long their courtship had been.  
  
What he did know—or rather, what he remembered, was that he had loved her so deeply. Now that the memory of those feelings were known to him, he could find them within himself still, hidden away in alcoves he never knew to examine. Despite what happened to put him into the shrine of resurrection—whatever event brought about his fall… he had never stopped loving her. Much about his life was absent—his identity, his time as a soldier, his family and his childhood… but knowing, now, who she was to him—getting even just a brief glimpse into the emotions he’d harbored for her, he couldn’t repress the yearning he now felt to be with her once again.  
  
But he also couldn’t help but wonder… what of her? After a century of waiting—of wondering, after he had failed her and left her to a hundred years of imprisonment… did she still love him? Was her guidance upon his awakening a token of that love, or merely a pragmatic move to ensure his return to finish the job they started a century ago? Based on his memories of Deya, the way he felt about her—and the way he knew she felt about him, he wanted to believe the former was the case; but time had a way of changing even the most certain of things. Despite a lingering inner conviction that her love had lasted through the years, he couldn’t help but doubt.  
  
He sighed wearily for the umpteenth time that night, lifting his head to gaze forlornly into the flames. If only he could remember! So much of his pain and confusion was the result of simply not knowing all that had brought him to this point—and all the events which preceded it. Running a hand through mussed hair, he forced back the tears he knew would fall if he let his mind dwell.  
  
He couldn’t afford to think much more about it, despite his mind’s desire to sink into those memories. He still had a job to do. Despite the shock of this revelation, he couldn’t linger here; and now that he knew just how much she meant to him, he couldn’t stomach the thought of extending her imprisonment simply because he felt like curling into a ball. He would try to rest this night, then move on in the morning with increased haste to Gerudo Town. Thoughts of his and Zelda’s relationship, of his patchy memory, of the shrine of resurrection… all of that would have to wait.  
  
As he moved to rest his cheek on his knees, a curious memory returned to him, and he fell over onto the dirt in shock.  
  
He had been so disoriented when he’d awoken; the process of dressing, taking the Sheikah slate, and finding his way out of the shrine were all a bit of a blur—but with this latest revelation, he suddenly remembered something he’d dismissed as he pulled those ratty old clothes from the chest left for him in the shrine. Atop them there had been a simple leather cord tied at the ends—a necklace, with a strange wooden ring hanging from it. At the time he had dismissed it as perhaps some useless trinket or charm, and he’d been far more concerned with clothing his nearly-naked body than outfitting himself with jewelry. But now… now he knew what that odd trinket had been. It was his wedding ring.  
  
And he’d left it behind.  
  
A fresh wave of shame and guilt arose within him, and the tears he had earlier withheld ran down his cheeks as he choked on a breath. Not only had he forgotten his own wedding and the love he harbored for Zelda—he’d left his wedding ring in some moldering old chest in the middle of Hyrule to rot, forgotten and abandoned.  
  
His forehead pressed against the cool earth as his fist slammed onto the ground beside him, and he let out a pained cry.  
  
Why did this all have to be so damned _hard_? As if waking without a modicum of understanding about the world in which he inhabited wasn’t hard enough. As if having to train all over again to be worthy of the master sword wasn’t hard enough. As if being tasked with destroying the greatest evil in existence and rescuing the last of the royal line from its clutches _wasn’t hard enough_.  
  
As his anguish washed through him anew, he slumped onto the dirt, curling in on himself. It was too much—far too much in one day. Too much pain, too much guilt and shame… this wasn’t the kind of husband he thought he would be when he made his vows.  
  
As the hours ticked on, anguish turned to numbness, and his tears eased. Once the moon reached its zenith in the sky, a fitful doze finally claimed him, and he lay, curled against the log before the dying embers of the fire, unmoving, for the remainder of the night.  
  
-:-:-:-:-:-  
  
He awoke to the dappling of light through the trees. He had slept past sunrise—a rarity for him. He rose slowly from the ground, feeling groggy and extremely disoriented. He’d had such a strange dream…  
  
He and Zelda had been in a stone temple guarded by a strange yet oddly familiar old woman in a very pointed hat, holding hands as they entered through large doors. A massive gear-shaped gate rotated in the center of the room, humming and grinding as it turned, a foreboding, impenetrable darkness at its center. Zelda had turned to him then, but she wasn’t the Zelda he knew—she was taller, thinner in the face with yellow-blond hair and short bangs, wearing a white dress and smiling at him just like his Zelda always did. But… she was Zelda—his Zelda. He knew this, somehow, though she looked so different. And when he looked down at their joined hands, he noticed that his hands were different—his fingers were shorter, his palm longer, and he wore brown leather gloves that were his and that were not.  
  
Zelda had pulled on that hand, tugging him along as they walked up a platform, leading him into and through the strange rotating gate; and when they got to the other side, she was different again. She was young—a child, really, dressed in pink and wearing an odd cap which covered her hair. But he was young too—a mere boy, dressed in a silly green tunic, his hands small and chubby. But when she smiled at him, it was that same smile, the one that warmed him and made his heart sing.  
  
She led him silently through a castle, under one archway and into a dark corridor. When they came out the other side, she was different again—and so was he. Her hair was no longer yellow but light brown. She was older, her figure thinner and more willowy—elegant in a way his Zelda often wished she could be. He was taller, too, with longer, thinner fingers this time, and a different pair of brown leather gloves that were his and that were not. But when she smiled at him, it was that same smile—the one that made him feel at home.  
  
The dream kept shifting and changing, each of them becoming different and yet the same—but always together, wandering through castles and forests—places both familiar and strange. He had been left with lingering sensations: the smell of damp earth and cool stone, the sounds of rattling bones and the squish of chu-chu’s, the feel of her hair between his fingers and her arms around his waist. It didn’t make any sense, and made all the sense in the world at the same time. It had been fantastical and painful, beautiful and tragic, and somehow… comforting. The many doubts and fears which had plagued him the night before… they were not gone, but they no longer had teeth with which to bite him.  
  
As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, he gazed broodingly out at the road.  
  
Regardless of his revelation in Deya, regardless of whatever things he felt, he couldn’t stop—he knew this. He had to keep going—to train, to free the divine beasts, and seek out the master sword. He had to save her, save Princess Zelda; and now that he understood the full scope of their relationship, that drive was only heightened.  
  
Before all of this, he had been on his way to Gerudo Town—and to get there he needed to head east. The Great Plateau—the shrine of resurrection where he had awoken—was also to the east. If he followed the road, he would ride right along it for several miles, until he reached the fork in the road south. It wouldn’t make for much of a detour, especially if he used the slate…  
  
Resolved, he stood, quickly dusting off his clothes as he turned for Epona. If he rode hard, he could reach the base of the plateau’s walls by sundown. He could tie off Epona and warp to the shrine, and perhaps… maybe, it had remained undisturbed. The plateau wasn’t an easy place to reach…   
  
Turning, he untied Epona’s reins and hopped atop the saddle, turning her towards the road. With a flick of her reins and a shout, he took off at a gallop.  
  
-:-:-:-:-:-:-  
  
After a long day of hard riding, he reached the base of the plateau as the sun was lowering towards the horizon. He’d made good time. As the wall loomed large, he slowed Epona to a trot, directing her towards a copse of trees on the side of the road. Hopping quickly out of the saddle, he led her to a nearby low tree branch and secured her reins.  
  
As he turned toward the wall, amber evening light casting dramatic shadows on what remained of its intricate carvings, he felt a strange nervous anticipation rising within him. Pulling the Sheikah slate from his hip, he pushed the sensation away, forcing himself to focus on his task as he selected the shrine of resurrection and began the warp sequence. He held his breath, the familiar electric tingle running through his body as any sense of time and place momentarily vanished. He closed his eyes—it always made this easier—and as the unnerving sensation of warp travel faded, he opened them. There, before him, was the cave entrance, the strange Sheikah carvings curling around it and its interior just as dark and ominous as he remembered.  
  
Releasing a breath, he steeled his nerves, and walked inside.  
  
The dim blue glow of the Sheikah lanterns shone from further down the long hallway, and the sun offered just enough illumination to navigate by. He hadn’t returned since his departure after awakening; despite the fact that he now knew the shrine had saved his life, he couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding he felt here. Still, he pushed himself onward, hopping down the short cliff and walking through the doorway into the shrine’s antechamber. Pale blue light now filled the room. Ahead, at the top of the short set of stairs, sat the chest he’d found his clothes in, right where he remembered it and just as he’d left it. He let out a relieved breath, though inexplicable nervousness filled him as he approached it.  
  
Kneeling, he extended his hand, apprehensively lifting the lid.  
  
There, at the bottom of the empty chest, was the leather cord with his ring hanging from it. With trembling hands he reached inside and pulled it forth, allowing his fingers to brush over the smooth wood. It looked just as he remembered—a plain, simple band—though the varnish had nearly worn through. With clumsy fingers he untied the leather cord, allowing the ring to slide along the leather and into his hand. Gripping it between thumb and forefinger, he slid it onto his left hand ring finger, then stared down at his hand, a strange flutter in his chest. He flexed, turning his wrist as he eyed it, and a small smile rose to his lips.  
  
It felt right, somehow—and, surprisingly, helped ease some of the hollowness his lack of memories had left him with. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he stood and took a step back from the chest, tucking the leather cord into his pocket.  
  
It wasn’t much; just a small token of the life he had dared to want—dared to pursue, despite the odds stacked against him and rules he knew he was breaking. But it was a thread, one which led to her—to a life of his own choosing and his own making. Destiny had decided the course of his life up to this point, and he would complete the path that had been laid out before him. He had to rescue the Princess and, together, defeat Calamity Ganon and save Hyrule.  
  
But what would drive him from this point onward would not be a commitment to duty or an obligation bestowed by destiny—it would be his own desires. He would honor his vows as her husband; he would chase after her across the land because he loved her—because he needed her at his side; because he missed her—desperately. Destiny was a consideration, yes, but comparatively, it was an afterthought—a convenient excuse.  
  
With a last lingering glance about the room, he turned and headed back down the hall to the cave’s entrance. There was still a long way to go, and much still to do—but he would not fail. Now that the hollowness inside of him had a name, he would see it filled. No force in Hyrule would stop him; he would brave hell or high water if it meant holding her in his arms again—he _would_ hold her in his arms again.  
  
And then, perhaps, at long last… they could begin the life together they never got the chance to live.  
  
 _‘I’m coming, Zelda. Hold on just a little bit longer… I’m coming.’_


End file.
